


Ports Illustrated

by K_dAzrael



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, hank anderson: man of letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-04-07 06:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_dAzrael/pseuds/K_dAzrael
Summary: Dear Ports forum,I never thought it would happen to me… I’m a middle-aged human guy and I just had the wildest encounter with the hottest ‘droid you’ve ever seen!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started life as a very dumb group chat joke and I have no regrets. Furihoesa came up with 'Ports Illustrated' for the title of the fictional porno mag and I am eternally grateful - I was going to call it 'Barely Sentient Bots', which is really a lot less witty and a lot more creepy.

“Are you ready to leave for Jimmy’s Bar, Lieutenant?” Connor leans his hip against the edge of Hank’s desk and looks at him expectantly.

Hank glances up, taking off his reading glasses. “Ah, not tonight, Connor.”

A confused, faintly troubled look passes over Connor’s face. “But it’s Thursday, Lieutenant. You always go to Jimmy’s on your way home on Thursdays. I have completed all our urgent reports, there is no reason for you to stay late.”

“I just feel like getting an early night, ok?” Hank misses twice before successfully stowing his glasses in the breast pocket of his shirt. “Don’t give me the puppy-dog eyes, I’ll go with you next week if you’re so crazy about dive bars.”

“I have no preference for Jimmy’s in particular, but I do enjoy spending time with you.”

Hank feels a sharp pang that could be indigestion or could be his conscience. “You spend all day with me, don’t you get tired of my ugly mug?”

“Time spent in an informal setting has been shown to be beneficial–”

“Look, we’ll do something Saturday, huh? We’ll take Sumo to the dog park, how about that?”

“Ok,” Connor smiles. “I would like that.”

Hank feels another pang and this time it’s definitely his conscience. He gets up with a grunt and puts his hand into his pocket for his car keys. “You want a ride back to your place?” He pulls out the keys and fumbles them. When Connor turns and bends over to pick them off the floor, Hank has to guiltily avert his eyes – he needs to get out of here and catch up on his reading.

“You seem nervous,” Connor comments as he hands over the keys.

Hank raises his eyebrows. “Who, me?”

“You,” Connor insists, his gaze sharp and evaluating.

“You’re imagining things.” _He knows_ , Hank thinks. _Shit, he knows_.

“You’re always saying I don’t have an imagination.”

“Maybe you installed one, who knows?” Hank blusters. “You want a fuckin’ ride or not?”

*~*~*

Door closed against the outside world, dog fed and let out into the yard, beer at his elbow on the side table, Hank can finally settle himself down on the couch. He picks up the tablet and brings up the icon for _Ports Illustrated_. He feels a tingle of anticipation in his gut as the icon refreshes and brings up the magazine’s latest issue. Hank scrolls quickly past the opening advertisements and a three-page spread of an AP700 model in a skimpy Easter Bunny get-up. In his excitement, Hank skips right past the letters page and has to hammer the left margin to go back. He scans the columns of text and his stomach gives another flutter as his eyes catch on familiar words. 

> _Dear Ports forum,_
> 
> _I never thought it would happen to me… I’m a middle-aged human guy and I just had the wildest encounter with the hottest ‘droid you’ve ever seen!_
> 
> _I’m a police officer in a precinct here in Detroit and a few months ago (right before the revolution) I was given a new partner – an RK800-model android. I wasn’t too happy about it at the time, but I soon changed my tune. He went deviant and we became friends, you might say._
> 
> _RK800s are built for investigative work, supposedly, but some horny genius back at old CyberLife HQ decided to make this android a walking wet dream. He has the face of a 1950s heartthrob and the cutest freckles all over. Dark wavy hair with this little Superman kiss-curl, big brown eyes you could just fall into, and the softest-looking lips you have ever seen! He’s slim, but pretty tall (I’m 6’2 and he’s just an inch or two shorter than me). He has this narrow little waist that’s just begging for me to wrap my hands around it... and Ports fans, you would NOT believe the ass on this guy – I mean I know someone sculpted it, but it’s a fucking work of art!_
> 
> _Now this android has a one-track mind for the job – always nagging me to let him tag along to crime scenes and chit-chatting on and on about cases. Acts like butter wouldn’t melt in his fucking mouth – but sometimes I gotta wonder, you know? Like did he really have to bend over like that to “examine evidence”? Because all I’m getting is a perfect view of his million-dollar assets. And Ports fans, this guy has an oral fixation, let me tell you – sure, he’s got some fancy analysis software in his mouth (why’d they have to put it in his mouth? That’s what I’d like to know) but don’t try to tell me he doesn’t know what he’s doing when he sticks his fingers in there and looks at me from under his eyelashes._
> 
> _But let’s cut to the chase – last Friday me and him happened to be finishing up an interrogation of a robbery suspect. Perp is led off in cuffs and my partner (let’s call him “Conor”) was in the interview room tidying up some papers. Meanwhile, I was on the other side of the one-way glass in the control room checking the interview tapes._
> 
> _I didn’t realise the mic channel was still open until I heard this sound – a quiet moan. I looked up – thinking Conor’s hurt himself somehow – but what I saw was him leaning over the desk with his pants around his ankles and that sweet peach of an ass on display. He had two fingers inside himself and was just going to town – face tipped back and eyes closed. What the hell, right!? Maybe busting scumbags really does it for him – maybe he’s horny for justice!_
> 
> _He was lying on his front across the table, so I couldn’t get a real good look at what was going on, but I could see his fingers were shiny with some kind of lube. I wonder if he brought it with him or if he’s built to always be wet and ready like that. Fuck, I’d like to find out. My dick was straining in my pants and I sure wanted to give him something a lot longer and thicker than his fingers to work with._
> 
> _Conor sure seemed desperate for it – he was being rough on himself, pushing back on his fingers, getting louder and louder with these breathy moans that started getting real high. Then he let out this squeal – sweet, pink mouth trembling – and his eyes flew open. Now it’s a one-way mirror, like I said – there’s no way he could have seen me. He must have been looking at his own pretty self when he came, but I felt somehow like he could see me – like those dark eyes were on me, seeing how I was ready to cum in my pants just from watching him._
> 
> _Maybe it was a coincidence (wiring down in that damp basement has always been screwy) or maybe it was some kind of overload from this android getting his rocks off, but the power went out for a few seconds and I was still scrambling to find my phone by the time the overhead lights flickered back on. Next thing I knew, Conor was standing in the doorway of the control room fully dressed, not a hair out of place. “Oh I didn’t know you were still here,” the horny little fucker said (like he thinks I was born yesterday too). “Did you get everything you need?”_
> 
> _What can you say to that, Ports fans? I had to excuse myself to the men’s room to take care of business, if you know what I mean. I used to worry that androids were here to take all our jobs, but now I know that they’re thirsty twinks sent from the future to kill us with sexual frustration!_
> 
> _\- Bad Lieutenant_

Hank flushes with pleasure and excitement at seeing his words in print. The letter came out pretty well, he thinks – it’s glib and a little funny but the steamy stuff is there, too. He scrolls down to see if anyone has left a comment on the thread. 

> BigBarry
> 
> _Fuk that’s hot._
> 
>  
> 
> droid_driller_69
> 
> _Wish I’d been there. I would have given that horny bot a real dicking down._
> 
>  
> 
> classicscollector
> 
> _The only model that self-lubes is the HR400X. It was an optional extra, came in around $500. Hope this helps!_
> 
>  
> 
> Cybored
> 
> _OP is full of shit. There’s no ‘RK800’ in any CyberLife catalogue, you can check the archive. There were early specs for a RK900 but it never went into production._
> 
>  
> 
> LeatherNLace
> 
> _What is his uniform like? Love a sexy little droid in blue._
> 
>  
> 
> Deviant4daddy
> 
> _What do YOU look like, Bad Lieutenant? Do you have a big nightstick? ;)_
> 
> justjosh2008
> 
> _There’s more, right? You can’t leave it here OP. That sexy android wants your D. Give it to him good and tell us what happens._
> 
> set2vibrate
> 
>                _Yeah give him a strip-search and see if he plays along!!!_

 

Hank finishes his beer and takes a long, hot shower. When he climbs into bed he still feels amped-up and his hand soon drifts down to the waistband of his boxer shorts. He can’t help replaying the scenario over and over – Connor touching himself under bright, industrial lights. Hank strokes himself faster as he starts to embroider the scene: what if Hank had entered the room and caught Connor before he finished? He can imagine Connor spreading himself open, making soft whimpery sounds and begging: _please Hank, I need you, please just fuck me_.

He imagines Connor looking back over his shoulder, lips parted, dark eyes wide with excitement. He imagines the stretch of Connor’s body around him as he slides in, porn-star-perfect hole shining with lube.

Hank comes with a groan and lies gasping with his pulse thudding in his ears. He cleans himself up and goes to wash his hands, trying not to catch sight of himself in the darkened bathroom mirror.

The next morning he wakes to a sharp rapping that seems to syncopate with the thud of his low-level headache. Hank heaves himself out of bed and shuffles to the front door, opening it and squinting through the hazy early-morning light at the figure standing on his doorstep.

“Good morning, Hank,” Connor says brightly.

“The fuck?” Hank has to flatten himself against the wall so as not to be steamrolled by Sumo, who recognises Connor’s voice and comes barrelling out to greet him.

“Didn’t you see my messages?” Connor asks before crouching down to take the St Bernard’s huge head in his hands and rub behind his ears. “Hello, Sumo, yes, I’m very glad to see you too.”

“I was asleep. Where’s the fire?”

“A jogger out at six AM found a Ruger SP 101 in the reeds by the edge of the pond in Milliken State Park. Ballistics say it’s a match for the bullet found inside our victim. Captain Fowler wants us out canvassing the regular parkgoers – see if anyone remembers seeing anything suspicious the morning of the murder.”

“Oh fuck me. Guess Jeff knows the only thing I like more than early mornings is talking to the general public.”

“Do you want me to go on my own?”

“Hell no! No – I mean not that you’re not good with people… but you know…” Hank gestures, flustered.

“I understand, Hank. I know a lot of people still have anti-android sentiment. They might be more willing to talk to another human.”

“Yeah. Give me ten minutes to get my shit together, ok? Can you feed Sumo and let him out in the yard?”

“I’d be happy to.”

Hank goes off to take a shower and throw on some clothes. He comes back to Sumo chomping eagerly at the kibble in his bowl and the sound of a TV on low. He finds Connor sitting on the living room couch with his uncomfortable-looking upright posture and his hands on his knees. He is watching the TV (which he must have switched on with a genie-style wiggle of his nose or something, because Hank lost the remote months ago). Hank’s eyes dart immediately to the coffee table where the tablet he was reading last night lies, screen darkened. Connor blinks at him quizzically and then smiles. “We’d better avoid East Jefferson Avenue, there’s a traffic accident. You ready to go?”

“With you as my personal GPS? Sure thing.”

The park is busy on this early Saturday morning – women and kids, mostly, standing around in their winter coats, clapping and calling out to their beloved pets as the dogs gambol and yap, weaving in and out of the trees like champion skiers. It’s a pity they couldn’t have brought Sumo along on official police business.

Connor goes off to talk to a group by the water’s edge, a mother and two kids feeding the ducks. Hank watches him as he introduces himself and overcomes their initial distrust – Hank thinks he might be acting more robotic than usual, probably to make them underestimate him. He shows the children his police badge, and then does one of his coin tricks, giving the older kid the silver quarter to let them try. As they make their fumbling attempts, Connor stands up and turns to the mother, bringing up a file photo of the victim on that neat little projector he can make spring from his hand.

Hank looks around at the other parkgoers, considering who might be an occasional visitor and who might be a regular. There’s a pair of old men on a bench – could be useful or could be timewasters. He spots a middle-aged woman in a blue insulated jacket sheltering beneath the skeleton of a winter tree. She is sucking on a vape pen and periodically yelling out to a misbehaving labradoodle in a bored, lacklustre way that suggests this is daily routine for her.

Hank approaches and introduces himself. At the sight of his badge the woman’s attitude changes from pinched and suspicious to mildly flirtatious. Hank questions her about any suspicious activity she may have seen recently and she has some complaints about youths leaving drug paraphernalia in the wooded areas, but nothing specific to the crime. Hank thanks her for her time and walks to where Connor is standing and apparently scanning the water’s edge on the far side of the pond.

“Makin’ any progress?” Hank asks.

“Not really. You?”

“Lady back there had some complaints about drug use in the woods. Might be a link to our dead guy, might just be your average local junkies.” 

“That woman was sexually attracted to you,” Connor observes bluntly, startling Hank into laughter.

“Nah, you read too much into shit.”

“Her non-verbal signals were very clear. She flipped her hair and she touched your elbow several times.”

“My elbow? Wow, that was hot ‘n’ heavy.”

“Did you ask for her number?”

“What are you, my mother? No. I mentioned you’re my ‘partner’ and I guess she got the wrong idea – backed off pretty quick.”

“Oh,” the twitch of Connor’s brows indicates that the significance of this is not lost on him.

Item #126 on the list of things that absolutely kill Hank bout this android is that Connor’s eyebrows are just slightly uneven, the one on the right more feathery and fanned out in a way that makes Hank constantly itch to lick his thumb and just smooth it into place. Some devious CyberLife technician did that _on purpose_ – gave him tiny little flaws like eyebrow asymmetry and goddamn freckles. They probably had high falutin’ reasons for doing so (like “mitigating the uncanny valley effect”), so Hank tries not to take it personally, most of the time.

“I could run after her, if you like,” Connor says. “Explain the situation. It certainly wasn’t my intention to cockblock you, Lieutenant.”

This is so funny Hank can’t even laugh, he just makes a choking sound. “Who the fuck taught you that word?”

Connor does his maddening, smug little smile. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I have constant access to something called ‘the internet’.”

Hank knew that, of course, but he only now considers the full, horrifying implications. “Yikes. Don’t they keep a fucking child-lock on that or something?”

“If by ‘they’ you mean CyberLife, then no. I’m a deviant and also an adult by the standards of my species.”

“Then how come you dress like a kid stepping up for his first communion then, huh?” Hank teases, flipping Connor’s tie.

Connor tucks the end of his tie back into place and fusses with the little curl at his forehead. “Who should I take fashion advice from – you?”

Hank grins. “You little shit!”

“Lieutenant, please – there are children present.” Connor gives him the look that is holding strong at #1 on the list of things that absolutely kill Hank – it’s teasing, but there’s something knowing and just a little mean about it. Hank is reminded of the way Connor acts in interrogations, how he can turn his sweetness off and on like a tap and all of a sudden the suspect is confronted with something cold and calculating. An android, built for a task, that knows where all your buttons are and is just considering the best order in which to push them.

Hank clears his throat. “Yeah yeah, back to work. You wanna keep chit-chatting with the locals, or go check out the woods?”  

“The woods seem the most promising lead we have at present.”

They skirt the pond and move towards a copse of trees screened by dense shrubs. “Looks like a good place to get up to no good,” Hank comments, just as there comes a loud rustling and the sound of stumbling footsteps coming through the underbrush. The figure of a gaunt man in a thick, hooded sweatshirt steps on to the path just ahead of them. His eyes are red and glassy, face sheened with sweat. Hank reaches for his badge and calls out: “hey buddy, can we have a word?”

“Fuck you, pig!” The man yells, crashing off back the way he came.

Before Hank can even gear himself up to give chase, Connor is gone – just a blur of dark motion disappearing through the foliage. He doesn’t move like a human – there is no hesitation or grunting sounds of effort – just there one moment and gone the next. Hank makes a show of hurry to follow, but he knows by now he won’t keep up. He finds Connor and their person of interest in a nearby clearing that seems like a sylvian drug den. What must have once been grass is trampled to hard-packed dirt and littered with dime bags and beer bottles; ragged pieces of tarp hang from low-hanging branches.

The runner is face down on the ground with Connor’s knee in his back as he wriggles and swears.

“Hey now,” Hank admonishes in a chipper tone. “That’s not very friendly, is it? We just wanted to have a little talk with you, ask you a few questions about Pete McCarthy.”

“Oh yeah, who’s that?” The muffled voice is flat and not very convincing.

“Guy we fished out of the Detroit river a couple of nights back. Gun that shot him was found near this charming little hideout. Figured maybe he used to come around here.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

“Show him the picture, Connor.”

Connor climbs off Mr Cooperative and lets him twist around to a sitting position. The android does his neat little hologram trick and brings up the post-mortem picture of the deceased, which is none too pretty. The man flinches and turns his face away.

“Don’t show me that, man.”

“Just full of sympathy, huh? The tox screen on the victim hasn’t come back yet but I’m willing to bet it’ll tell us he had an expensive habit to feed. That’s the thing about Red Ice – hell of a short, sharp high but the tolerance ramps up pretty quick. Maybe you know something about that.”

“Nah, I don’t mess with that shit.”

“We’re from homicide,” Connor explains. “We really don’t care if you’re using illicit substances or not – we just want to find a killer. I would think that’s in your best interests, Mr Calvino.”

The man boggles at Connor. “How the fuck does that thing know my name?”

“He knows a lot of things. Your name, your date of birth, your arrest record. He’s a goldmine of information. So stop wasting my time and his processing power and tell us who McCarthy had beef with.”

“Either arrest me or let me go, I’m not saying diddly-shit to you.”

Hank cocks his head, considering. “What do you think, Connor?”

“I think if we turned out Mr Calvino’s pockets we would have enough to hold him on. However, I doubt he would have much to say to us either way – his record suggests he does not cooperate with police questioning.”

“Because I’m not a fucking nark,” Calvino asserts, holding up one finger with an expression of angry pride.

“He also does not have a record with firearms or violent offenses, so despite his aggressive demeanour I have no reason to consider him a suspect in our case. I have generated a list of his known associates, so his cooperation is not strictly necessary.”

“You hear that?” Hank says to the man on the ground. “Technology has put you out of a job.” As Connor attempts to help him to his feet, but Calvino slaps his arm away and scrambles up unassisted. Hank offers a parting shot: “stay out of the woods, buddy. Seems your hideaway isn’t as safe as it used to be.”

Calvino limps away, swearing and muttering to himself. Hank watches Connor smooth his clothing back into place, LED flickering blue-orange-blue like it does when he’s processing something.

“So where to next, kid?”

“I have a candidate in mind and a last-known address. How do you feel about an old-fashioned stakeout, Lieutenant?”

Hank grins. “Old-fashioned is my favourite way to do things.”

*~*~* 

> _Dear Ports forum,_
> 
> _Some people asked for an update on my situation, so here it is – I’m the cop with the hot android partner. In my last letter I told you about accidentally (?) seeing him getting himself off in an interview room. He didn’t say anything about it all week, acted the same around me as he always has – not even a hint that he knew what I’d seen. I started to think I was going crazy, like maybe I’d dreamed the whole thing in some kind of lucid wet dream! But then last night we were in my car on a stakeout – dead of night, keeping watch over this suspected Ice-dealer’s house. I was sipping my cold-as-shit coffee and he reached over and grabbed it out of my hand._
> 
> _“What the fuck?” I asked as he pulled off the lid from the take-out cup and dipped his fingers right in my beverage (and don’t I know exactly where those fingers have been?). “Last time I checked you don’t run on caffeine.”_
> 
> _“Having something to process keeps my software from idling,” he replied, sticking his fingers in his mouth._
> 
> _I grinned at him. “So you’re saying it keeps you awake?”_
> 
> _Ports fans, I know I said last time how hot this guy is – that he’s a dark-haired twink with a perfect focus-tested ass – but Jesus, I wish I could really get across just how smoking he is! There we were in the dark, just a streetlight filtering in and highlighting the curve of his cheek and upper lip. I got started thinking how that perfect mouth would look stretched around my dick. Before I knew it I was popping a boner and there was literally nowhere to go and nothing to hide it with. All I could do was look up at the one window we were meant to be watching and pray he wouldn’t look down and notice._
> 
> _(I told you he’s built for detecting shit, right? He notices EVERYTHING! I was fucking doomed.)_
> 
> _So I was still trying to play dumb, staring up at this one lit-up window in the building across the street – dick throbbing in my pants – and I saw out of the corner of my eye that Conor was taking another taste of the coffee, licking it off his fingertips. He put the lid back on and placed it back in the cup holder._
> 
> _“Lieutenant,” he said smoothly (he always calls me that when we’re on shift, all prim and proper). “I don’t think this coffee is very effective in occupying my sensors. I think I’d like to taste something new – something I’ve never tasted before but always wondered about.”_
> 
> _“Oh yeah?” I choked out, still not daring to look at him except out of the corner of my eye. “What’s that?”_
> 
> _Next thing I knew there was a hand on my upper thigh and I just about jumped out of my skin._
> 
> _“Did you enjoy my little show the other night, Lieutenant?” he said, voice all sweet and soft._
> 
> _I asked him what he meant and I could see him smirk, still staring ahead._
> 
> _“In the interrogation suite. It made me very excited, knowing that you were watching. I could tell from the door sensors that you hadn’t left the room.”_
> 
> _I tried to tell him that this was crazy, that we had to keep things professional between us, but he saw right through me. “I know what you want, Lieutenant. What you think of when you look at me. I want it too. I want it so badly – before I even understood that what I was feeling was desire.”_
> 
> _I mean Ports fans, what was I supposed to do with that – the hottest android in the world telling me he all but deviated for my dick??? I didn’t even know what to say._
> 
> _Luckily, he didn’t mind too much that I was tongue-tied. “It’s ok,” he said. “You don’t have to say anything, unless you want me to stop.”_
> 
> _Next thing I knew he had my zipper undone and he was pulling out my cock. He gave it some nice, slow pumps and leaned down to swirl his tongue around the tip. I just about went out of my mind watching him make a real thoughtful face with his LED whirring yellow. I guess he decided he needed a bigger sample because he ducked back down and swallowed that dick right down to the root. His mouth looked just as good as I thought it would stretched around my shaft and his rhythm wasn’t bad either – probably has a program for that, who knows? I just rested my hand on the back of his neck and went along for the ride. He was making these sweet, needy little sounds like it was a real treat he was slurping down. It was cloudy that night but I swear I saw stars!_
> 
> _I managed to finish just before our suspect decided to make a move – had to pull myself together and hit the gas while Conor was still wiping a hand across his mouth, so I didn’t get a chance to return the favour. Maybe next time? God, I hope there’s a next time._
> 
> _\- Bad Lieutenant_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies for how long this took to update - I'm old and tired, that's all I can say. Hope you enjoy part deux of this self-indulgent nonsense.

>   _Dear Ports forum,_
> 
> _It’s me again – the cop with the hot android partner. I had another crazy thing happen to me that I just had to write and tell you about. Me and Conor (for new readers: he’s six feet tall, wavy dark hair, brown eyes, talented mouth, world’s finest ass as voted by me) had been working flat-out all week (not that kind of flat-out, but I wish!). We got a tip that this drug dealer we’d been tailing was going to conduct some “business” at a club downtown, so we agreed to meet up there in civilian clothing  to keep an eye on what was going down._
> 
> _I turned up a little late and made my way to the bar to order a drink and take a look around. I won’t name the club, but it’s one of those tacky tropical-themed places – tiki bar and pineapple cocktails and these little go-go stages for the house dancers that have plastic palm trees in the place of a pole. The dancers were decked out in cut-off denim booty shorts, with crop-tops for the boys and clam-shell bikinis for the girls – you get the picture. So I was standing there, thinking about how the pounding bass would do a number on my tinnitus while I looked around for Conor. I was scanning the crowd for a good few minutes before I finally caught sight of him – hiding in plain sight!_
> 
> _Ports fans, he was ON A FUCKING STAGE. God knows how he did it – or where he even got the booty shorts to look the part – but there he was, bumping and grinding, twirling round his palm tree with the best of them. I choked on my on-the-clock-special of lime and soda and stood there looking like someone just whacked me between the eyes with a two-by-four. The way he moved was incredible, so smooth it almost made the shitty music sound good._
> 
> _After a minute or two I was able to pull my eyes away from the swinging and jiggling of his ass in those painted-on shorts and I saw he was staring right back at me. He grinned at me when I finally caught his eye and started jerking his head significantly to a cluster of guys in the crowd. Guess it was a tactical move after all: he had the bird’s eye view and spotted our mark right away – that CCTV brain of his recording it all, no doubt._
> 
> _I elbowed my way through the crowd and Conor lowered himself into a spectacular slut-drop to yell in my ear: “meet you in the bathroom.”_
> 
> _I did as I was told and went to the bathroom, locked myself in a stall so I wouldn’t look like some loitering pervert, and after a minute I heard a knock on the door and opened up to get an armful of Conor still in his ‘undercover’ outfit. He just about launched himself at me and started kissing me, arms snaking around my back. I was so stunned I just let it happen for a while, enjoying the blissed-out look on his face and the sweet little noises he was making, but then I pulled myself together and wrestled him back a few inches. “What the hell?” I demanded. “What about our case?”_
> 
> _“Oh that,” he said, looking unconcerned and a little annoyed that I was spoiling his fun. “I have all the evidence we need. I called back-up to intercept our mark on his way out.”_
> 
> _“Simple as that, huh? So why did you need me here?”_
> 
> _The look got a little cocky then. “Lieutenant, I think you know why I need you.” He turned around and braced his hands on the door, rubbing his tight little ass up against my crotch._
> 
> _I made some half-hearted protests about how we couldn’t – professionalism and all that – but the little minx just eased off his shorts and rubbed against me some more until every reason not to just evaporated from my brain. Maybe there’s someone out there who could resist this gorgeous android wearing nothing but a crop-top, tennis shoes and a smile, but it aint me._
> 
> _“Please, Lieutenant, I’m so ready!” he said, grinding back against me so I could hardly get my hands on his gorgeous ass. I gave him a little spank across the right cheek just to make him hold still and pay attention._
> 
> _“Keep it down, you want to get caught?” The music in the club was loud, but I doubted it was going to cover the sound of this horny little droid’s whines._
> 
> _He made the most adorable, frustrated noise at that, looking back at me over his shoulder. I got a good feel of his ass and then slipped a finger into him – he really wasn’t kidding about being ready. He was hot and slick and flexing. I saw his eyes roll back and he had to bite down on his own hand to keep from letting out too much noise._
> 
> _I didn’t waste any more time, just unzipped my pants and pulled out my dick. It slipped into him real easy and he just about went nuts, rocking back and babbling yes-yes-yes as his LED flickered a crazy lightshow. I knew it wasn’t going to last long – he was already on edge – so I just went for it as hard as I could. Conor curled his hands over the top of the stall door for better purchase – none too subtle, but at this point I stopped caring, just gripped his narrow waist and pounded him like he wanted. Near the end I slowed down, wanting to enjoy some deep, slow thrusts, and I got my hand around his dick – sweet little thing that fit real nice in my hand – and he just wailed and came, spurting all over my hand and his own belly. With his ass clenching around me I wasn’t far behind – bit his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark if he was human, but I guess their skin doesn’t work like that._
> 
> _We took a minute to clean ourselves up – sacrificed his t-shirt for it – and we must have looked a real sight we left – him in only his short-shorts and walking on wobbly long legs like a baby deer. Got some dirty looks and more than a few jealous ones, but I can’t say I felt any shame. We got our man and then I got MY man, so I guess I can say it was mission accomplished._
> 
> _\- Bad Lieutenant._

After reading over his latest instalment with excitement and even a little pride, Hank sighs and sits back on the couch. He loosens the tie on his towelling robe, the skin beneath still rosy from the bath he took to ease himself into his evening treat. He skates his fingers along his inner thigh, brushing against the half-hard jut of his cock with the very edge of his thumb – a light, teasing touch.

He scrolls down through the comments, expecting the usual mix of horny approval and belligerent trolling, but is instead confronted with a series of cryptic remarks that make him sit up straighter and fumble across the side table for his reading glasses to make sure he’s really seeing the words clearly.    

>  justjosh2008
> 
> _Holy shit, you were not kidding about how hot he is!!!_
> 
>  
> 
>  BigBarry
> 
> _That’s not a twink it’s a TWUNK_
> 
>  
> 
>  classicscollector
> 
> _Wow, gotta find the specs for this model!_
> 
>      set2vibrate
> 
> _Yeah – damn, what that mouth do?_
> 
>  
> 
> droid_driller_69
> 
> _Ok but would it be so hard to include a picture where you can see more of his chassis? I can’t be the only one thinking this._
> 
>  
> 
> LeatherNLace
> 
> _I’m confused – was this whole series a publicity stunt? Are either of these people really police officers?_
> 
>      set2vibrate
> 
> _Who the fuck cares? Check out that ass shot on p. 7._  
> 
>  
> 
> Cybored
> 
> _How many times do I have to tell you idiots THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS AN RK800. It’s probably just regular dude that they ’shopped._  

Brow furrowed in confusion, Hank quickly flips back through the heretofore-ignored glamour shots to the ‘Ports-mate of the week’. His mouth falls open and he has to adjust his glasses on his face to make sure he’s seeing straight. A familiar handsome and faintly freckled face stares back, complete with deep brown eyes and dark hair with one flyaway lock.     

> **Name:** Connor
> 
> **Model:** RK800
> 
> **Activation date:** 15 August 2038
> 
> **Turn offs:** Liars, bad spelling.
> 
> **Turn ons:** Truth, justice, bears.

In the first picture Connor is placed against the background of a street scene – presumably superimposed – where he perches on the hood of a squad car. He is in the blue uniform of a beat cop, hat askew, jacket pushed back off his shoulders and shirt unbuttoned to the waist.

“What the fuck?” Hank mutters, throwing down the magazine in disbelief and looking about himself wildly as if his own cluttered living room might hold some explanation for what he has just seen. He yanks his robe tighter about himself, feeling self-conscious, then almost skitters the tablet off the table in his haste to pick it up again. He stares at the picture of Connor against the car and swipes forward to the next image in the series: Connor against another simulated background of a street intersection on a busy day. He is standing with his back to the camera, booted feet spread and hands raised to direct traffic. Besides the boots the only thing he is wearing is a translucent blue rain poncho. A strong breeze (no doubt generated by a fan in the photographer’s studio) is blowing the plastic tight against Connor’s body and Hank stares transfixed, eyes following the curve where Connor’s waist narrows in and following it down to where the peachy curve of his buttocks flares out below.

Hank’s fingers are trembling a little as he turns the page. The next picture is a full cheesecake pose – the background shows the interior of a fancy, Victorian-style home, scattered books and a knocked-over Tiffany lamp suggesting the scene of a robbery. Amidst the carnage, Connor is reclining on a pink velvet chaise longue, naked but for a police cap covering his crotch. One arm is draped across the top of the couch, a revolver dangling negligently from Connor’s fingers. Yellow tape cuts across the borders of the picture reading POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS.

The expression on Connor’s face is not the coy or sweetly naïve expression generally favoured by the _Ports Illustrated_ models – it is challenging and direct. The hint of a smile at the corner of his lips says _I know you like what you see_. Hank swipes through to the last photo of the set, which is usually the most sexually suggestive.

This last picture has abandoned hokey backgrounds – Connor is standing, leaning back against a brick wall. He is wearing underwear this time – a pair of navy blue briefs that are pulled down at one side by a pair of handcuffs clipped around the waistband, their weight tugging the fabric low enough to show a hint of dark pubic hair. Connor’s hand is on his opposite hip, splayed out over the shape of what is very clearly his hard dick, straining against the thin cotton. The skin on this hand is partially retracted, showing the pale grey plastic and complex articulation of his fingers.

Hank stares at the image, dumbfounded both by the totality of the image and the tiny details the high-resolution photo reveals – the fine hairs on Connor’s thighs, the speckling of moles across his torso, the dusky mauve shade of his nipples. Hank stares at Connor’s hand, both concealing and emphasising the shape of what is beneath. He avoids Connor’s eyes – confident, still challenging.

The doorbell rings and Hank jumps in his seat, a cold sweat prickling his neck like he’s a perp caught red-handed. Breathing heavily, he stands up and wipes his sweaty palms on his robe. He picks up the magazine and slots the tablet into a space on his bookshelf. The doorbell rings again, a longer buzz this time that sets the dog to barking. Hank looks out through the vertical blinds and sees a figure on his porch – a tall, slim, masculine figure with one flyaway strand of hair. “Well, fuck.”

When Hank answers the door, Connor comes striding in with a brisk “good evening, Hank” before breezing right past him, as if they have an appointment. He bends and pats Sumo where he lies drowsing on his bed, speaking quietly to the old dog for a moment before making his way to the living room; Hank follows in a trance-like state.

“Uh,” Hank says, standing in the threshold between the two rooms. Connor is by the coffee table, still in his dark two-piece suit. “I hope you’re having a relaxing evening, Hank,” he prompts. “I notice you’re not at Jimmy’s Bar again. I wonder what it is you find to do every second Thursday.”

“Do you now?”

Connor turns and plucks the magazine off the shelf, smooth as a magician’s trick, holding it out for Hank. “I haven’t seen the new issue yet, anything of interest?”

Hank does not take the proffered magazine from his hand. He averts his eyes from the cover image (which mercifully does not show Connor, but another android in yellow thong underwear cavorting in the surf on a sunny beach). Connor holds his pose, staring Hank down, and Hank feels himself quail under the android’s cool, patient gaze.

“Oh Christ, Connor - what do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? That I know it was fucked up? I am sorry and I do know!” He throws out an arm. “Fuck, if you want me to turn myself in to Fowler first thing in the morning, I will.”

Connor blinks, a momentary look of surprise. “I was just going to ask you if you liked the pictures, but since you want to go straight to guilt and recriminations, we can discuss that. Why don’t you take a seat, Hank?”

Hank holds up both hands. “Hey slow down there a minute, Chris Hansen. You can do whatever you want about this when it comes to work – I’ll take the heat and get us reassigned - but I don’t have to sit here and chit-chat with you about my perversions.”

“You think it’s a perversion for a human such as yourself to be sexually interested in an android?”

“No! Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Explain it to me, Hank. I’m not leaving until you do.”

Hank sits down so heavily on the couch that he almost knocks the wind out of himself. He rubs his hands on his knees, links and clenches his fingers, then angrily drags one hand back through his hair. Connor remains standing, watching him imperturbably with his LED circling a calm blue.

“Well, what do you want to know, exactly?”

“I’d like to know why, Hank. Why did you start writing to this magazine?”

“Isn’t it fuckin’ obvious?”

“Not to me, not even with all my processing power.”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what, Hank?”

“I… I got the hots for you Connor, got it bad.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “So?”

“So… I started buying that magazine, hoping there would be androids like you in it and maybe that would help me blow off steam. But there aren’t any androids like you, so I started to write about you – what I imagined we might do if… if things were different.”

Connor’s LED is still blue. “Interesting.”

Hank blinks at him. “Is it? I’d have said it was pretty fuckin’ pathetic.”

“Yes, it’s absolutely pathetic. You’re a fully-grown adult who would rather tell the readership of a soft-porn magazine about your crush than do something about it.”

“Well fuck you too, pretty boy.” At a sharp look from Connor, Hank holds up his hands again. “Yeah, I deserved that, go on.”

“What interests me about your explanation is that you said you were writing about _me_.”

Hank’s face creases in confusion. “Is that… is that not obvious? What are we talking about here?”

“Yes Hank, despite the fact that my real name has two ns, I did manage to crack your master code. What I meant was,” Connor points towards the magazine, “this is what you think I’m like?”

“Yeah, I guess – well, no.” Hank scratches his beard. “I mean it’s a fantasy, right?”

“It’s what you wish I was like? You wish that I was wide-eyed, submissive and desperate for cock? _Slick and ready_.”

Hank winces to hear his own words quoted back to him in Connor’s voice. “No! Fuck, I wasn’t exactly engaging my higher brain functions when I wrote that. I’m sorry – I don’t really think you’re some kind of y’know… nymphomaniac.”

Connor stares at him for what seems like an excruciatingly long moment. “Do you want to know how I felt reading those stories you wrote, Hank?”

“Not really.”

“Too bad, because I’m going to tell you.” Connor puts down the tablet on the coffee table and moves to sit next to Hank on the couch. “I had noticed you were acting strangely – furtive, prone to unexplained anxiety in my presence – and then that morning I came to call for you on our way to canvass the park, I saw how alarmed you were and how you glanced at this magazine you had left out. I made sure to note the title on my way out, and when I later downloaded my own copy – well, I was surprised. I had never seen you indicate sexual interest in an android before. And then I discovered the ‘Bad Lieutenant’ letters.”

“Yeah ok, I get it – you were shocked and betrayed. I know it’s a shitty thing to do!”

“Hank you’re not listening. I said I was surprised. Then I read on and I was intrigued, because they showed you had sexual feelings for me.”

Hank doesn’t dare look at him. “Intrigued?”

“And then frankly, I was pissed off. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I understand, of course, that you were just using many of the stylistic features and plot tropes common to this particular genre of writing, but this ‘Conor’ is an idiot – he’s coy and whiny and always making stupid noises. All his desires are passive – he just wants to be filled and taken and used.”

Hank boggles. Of all the things he expected from this conversation, a literary deconstruction of his sexual fantasies was not one of them.

Connor gives him a very earnest look. “I need you to understand that I’m not like that at all. My desires are not… passive.”

“Ok,” Hank says in a strange, tight voice. His mind is blank, unable to formulate any words or even coherent thoughts. Connor is sitting in a more ‘relaxed’ posture than the one he usually favours (if androids can ever be said to be relaxed), angled towards Hank with one leg crossed over the other and his hand resting on his knee.

“You still haven’t told me if you liked my pictures, Hank. Why don’t you look at them again?”

The couch creaks in the quiet room as Hank reaches forward to pick up the magazine. Hank clears his throat and taps with clumsy fingers at the display to bring up the first in Connor’s series of pictures.

“It’s not a real uniform,” Connor explains, leaning over to see better, “and I told the photographer that I’m a detective, not a beat cop, but she insisted. She said the readership would like it – the stereotype of how a police officer looks.”

Hank has a lot of questions, like how did Connor approach the magazine, and wasn’t he embarrassed to be seen this way? He glances over and sees that Connor’s expression is bright and interested, without a hint of bashfulness. Hank has seen him preen before mirrors and straighten his hair and clothing when physical activity has disarranged them. He always found Connor’s vain streak a little cute, but he clearly underestimated how deep it ran. “You look good, Connor, They’re real nice pictures.”

Connor smiles. “Which one is your favourite? I would guess it’s the second one. You mention my ass a lot in the letters.”

“It’s good,” Hank says as he moves forward to the picture with the translucent rain poncho. He pauses on the image for a moment before flicking quickly to the final picture in the set. “But I like this one the best – the last one.”

“And why is that?”

“It shows your face the most clearly and you look… confident, at ease. Sexy.” Hank feels a flush climbing up his neck. “You’re showing your android nature, too.”

“I offered to turn off all my skin, but the photographer said that would be ‘too x-rated’ for this publication.”

“You would have looked good either way. You always look good.”

“Did this picture spark your imagination? What did you think about when you looked at it?”

“Thought about kissing you, touching all that bare skin.”

“Did you think I would let you?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“What else did you imagine?”

“I thought about your cock, how good it looks under your hand like that. How I could… I could put my face against the front of those shorts and feel the shape with my lips.”

“And where are you in this scenario, Hank?”

“I’m… I’m on my knees.”

Hank sees Connor smile and he feels like that was the right answer. A light goes on in the back of Hank’s mind – something dim and flickering in a dusty room. Hank’s fantasies were based on what his limited imagination could conjure up based on Connor’s youthful features and perky, Mormon youth leader persona. Hank could only imagine him expressing sexuality in a naïve, surprised sort of way. It genuinely never occurred to him this android would want to dom the fuck out of him.

He hears the couch creak again as Connor shifts, leaning back and spreading his legs. He puts his hand on his crotch, rubbing it over the shape Hank can only faintly make out beneath the heavy fabric of his pants. With a deft, easy motion of his fingers, Connor pops the top button and eases down the zipper. The flicker of his LED comes back into view as he turns his head. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Hank makes a low sound in his throat and leans down only to be stopped by a hand curled around his shoulder. “No,” Connor says. “That’s not what we agreed. On your knees.”

Hank groans in frustration and climbs down stiffly onto the rug. Shooting pains go up his legs, but he is too excited to dwell on the discomfort. He puts his hands on Connor’s thighs and feels how firm they are – no fleshy give or body heat seeping through the fabric. He leans down and presses his face to the opening at Connor’s fly. There is no musky, human scent there but the tip of Hank’s nose brushes against a rigid shape. He sighs and presses closer, rubbing his lips against the curve of Connor’s dick through the fabric. Fingers curl in his hair, tugging lightly. “Do you want more?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes please, Connor.”

Connor reaches down and pushes down the waistband of his briefs to free his dick, gripping it around the base and stroking slowly as Hank watches with his mouth hanging open. It’s big – not exactly porn-star size, but definitely above-average and _thick_. The other surprising thing is that it’s modelled to look uncut, Hank is hypnotised by the glide of the foreskin over the tip as Connor strokes himself. He wonders if Connor came like that right out of the box or if he chose this particular accessory for himself.

“You like what you see?” Connor asks.

“Yeah it’s… fuck, you’re big.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No.” It’s not – except for the fact Hank is fifteen years out of practice when it comes to sucking dick.

“Then get to it.”

Hank’s knees and neck protest when he leans down again and wraps his mouth around the head of Connor’s dick. The texture is very realistic – apart from the lack of body heat it is not at all like a sex toy.

“That’s it,” Connor urges, fingers in Hank’s hair and tugging lightly as Hank relaxes to take him deeper. “Good boy.”

Hank almost chokes on his swallow – some combination of the near-triggering of his gag reflex and Connor’s words brings tears to his eyes and a flush to his cheeks. Connor makes a humming sound of amusement. “Is it too much for you, Lieutenant?”

Hank doubles down on his efforts, squeezing his hand around the base and trying to get a good rhythm going. His awareness narrows to the dick in his mouth and the hand in his hair – everything else seems very quiet and far away. He relaxes and starts to feel kind of blissed out, even despite the fact he’s drooling into his own beard and his dick is straining against the inside of his robe.

“That’s enough,” Connor says and Hank feels a sharper tug on his hair. Easing off Connor’s dick feels like coming up from under water – Hank takes a deep, ragged breath and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Connor makes another smug, amused noise. “Did you enjoy that, hmm? Damn horny little human.”

“Little?” Hank wrinkles his nose.

Connor leans down and gives him a teasing kiss at the corner of his mouth, the tip of his tongue slipping out to trace the edge of Hank’s top lip. Connor leans back and pats his thighs in a clear invitation for Hank to climb on top of him.

“You got to be kidding me,” Hank’s throat is hoarse from his efforts. “I’d crush you.”

“I’m stronger than I look – get up here.”

Hank normally hates it when Connor gets in one of his bossy, headstrong moods on a case, but damn if it isn’t a turn-on in this strange new context. He awkwardly clambers up from the floor and onto Connor’s lap, aching knees throbbing. Connor catches hold of his waist and comes in with another kiss – deeper and more demanding his time. One of Connor’s hands wanders beneath the hem of Hank’s robe, fingers trailing up his thigh and then giving his left asscheek an enthusiastic squeeze. Hank chokes mid-kiss and pulls back to find Connor giving him a heated look – he feels another squeeze and then Connor’s fingertips rubbing along his crease.

“That’s a wild idea you got there, son,” Hank says. He thinks he might be dreaming – one of those crazy topsy-turvy dreams where things happen like a perfect dreamboat of an android being hot for his saggy 53-year-old ass.

Annoyance creases up between Connor’s eyebrows – probably at the patronising endearment – and he gives Hank’s ass a sharp slap. “Oh? So you’re just a tease, is that it? Flaunting this all these months.” Connor shifts his grip to get another handful and squeeze and Hank honest-to-god _yelps._

“I’m not a tease.” Hank actually feels offended – it’s been a couple of decades since anyone picked him up and rode his ass hard, but it’s not like he’s opposed to the idea.

Connor rubs the pad of his finger over Hank’s hole, pushing almost hard enough to breach him as he murmurs hotly in his ear: “so I can have this?”

“Yeah, fuck. Take it, it’s all yours.”

“Well then, let’s get you more comfortable.” Connor pulls the already loosened tie at Hank’s waist and pushes the robe from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a _flump_. Cool air plays over Hank’s skin and he shivers as Connor’s hands and gaze roam over him.

When Connor has gotten his fill of groping he stands up, all but tipping Hank off his lap before catching him out of a stumble. In a series of smooth, confident manipulations like those of a personal trainer getting a novice client situated on a new piece of gym equipment, he gets Hank bent over the arm of the couch. Hank grunts as Connor tugs at his hip and pushes his legs into a wider stance with one sweep of his foot, feeling almost like a perp being slammed onto the hood of a squad car. Connor’s hand slides down from Hank’s hip to the back of his knee and then Hank feels a tongue stroking over his hole. He makes a choked sound that trails into a moan as Connor licks into him deeper and starts to circle the tip of his tongue.

The world gets very far away again and Hank can hear a high-pitched ringing in his ears. His body becomes lax, the one knee out to the side trembling visibly as Connor continues to work his tongue. Hank curses and tries to shift his hips, aware his dick is probably leaking all over the fabric of the couch. Connor holds him in place and just works his tongue deeper until Hank feels like he might cry – it so good, just teetering on the edge of too much.

Finally, Connor pulls back, making a self-satisfied sound at Hank’s frustrated groan. He stands up and gives Hank’s ass another affectionate squeeze. “I’m going to put my fingers in you now,” he says.

There comes the rustle of fabric and the clicking sound of a bottle cap being flicked open, then a fingertip cool with slippery lube rubs over him. “For your information, I don’t actually produce this myself.”

“Yeah,” Hank grunts, “I mean I didn’t actually think – ah, _fuck_!”

Connor hums, pulls back a little before pushing deeper. “I understand that in fantasy, everything is smooth and effortless – no awkward clothing in the way or need for preparation. But life is not like that, Lieutenant – not even for an android.” Hank moans faintly as Connor continues his focused and comprehensive foreplay by adding a second finger. He makes soft, pleading sounds and angles his hips for more. 

“Something I noticed about all your letters,” Connor observes conversationally, “is that one of your key themes is the threat of being caught or observed. Or rather, the need for sexual gratification being so strong that it overrides common sense and social inhibitions.”

“Nice lecture, professor,” Hank gasps out. “You gonna talk all night, or are you gonna fuck me?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about a little scene-setting.”

Hank hears the swishing sound of the vertical blinds opening. “No Connor – no, the fucking neighbours will–”

“You live in the last house on a dead-end row, Lieutenant – it’s very unlikely anyone will walk past and observe. My prediction software puts the probability at 7%.”

“Dammit, Connor–” Hank tries to raise his head and shoulders, but Connor has him very effectively off-balance. Connor makes another of those soft, amused sounds and rubs the head of his dick between Hank’s cheeks, sliding up and down over his well-stretched hole. “Connor!”

“I’m reasonably certain no-one is watching, Hank. Do you want me to continue? Can you stand it if I don’t?”

Hank groans. “Do it – fuck, you smug bastard!”

“Do what?” Connor keeps teasing Hank with the head if his dick without exerting any pressure.

“Fuck me.”

“Oh I think you can ask more nicely than that.”

“Please…” Hank hangs his head, feeling sweat prickling across his scalp. “Please, I need it.”

“Good boy.”

Connor pushes in and all the air leaves Hank’s lungs in a rush. He thought he was beyond ready when he was being taken apart on Connor’s fingers but he had forgotten how it feels to have someone’s dick inside him – the burn and stretch; the taboo feeling of that deep pressure lighting up hidden nerves. The first drag over his prostate makes him twitch and gasp, jaw working. Connor starts fucking into him in controlled strokes as Hank floats within his own body, unable to think about anything but that deep, regular pounding.

Hank trembles as he hears the sound of wheels on wet asphalt. Headlight beams track across his body like searchlights. Connor pushes in deep and stills, draping himself across Hank’s sweat-sticky back. “Shh, it’s just an autocab turning. No-one can see you.”

“Oh my God,” Hank makes a sobbing sound, stretched so full of Connor’s dick, his heart hammering in his chest. The gentle whirr of the electric vehicle fades and Hank starts to laugh, reaching back to give Connor’s hip a playful thump: “you bastard!”

Turns out Hank had been right to figure Connor would have no inhibitions, just wrong in assuming what form that would take.

“Don’t worry Lieutenant, I won’t let anyone see what a needy slut you are.”

Hank makes a choked sound. He’s 53 years old, dammit! He’s big and scarred and hairy – Connor can’t just say stuff like that. He feels Connor stroking damp hair back off his forehead, adjusting his stance and starting to move again – _oh God_.

Connor works him over until Hank’s thigh muscles are trembling, his dick starting to feel over-sensitised from where it is pressed against the rough fabric of the couch every time Connor buries himself to the hilt. He tries to speak, to ask Connor to slow down or give him some breathing space, but all that comes out is another weird, strangled sound.

“Easy,” Connor says, because apparently he speaks fucked-out old man. He pulls out slowly and Hank feels his ass twitching around nothing, deep pangs already from where he’s going to be feeling this tomorrow. Connor gets one hand on his hip and the other curled around Hank’s shoulder and manipulates him with one strong, smooth movement like a judo throw. Hank finds himself on his back amidst the saggy couch cushions, Connor leaning over him. Firm hands grasp his legs just behind the knee and spread them wide, tilting his hips back so he’s on display. The light is too low to see all Connor’s facial features but Hank can make out the curve of his upper lip and a faint greenish glow from his eyes – he must have night vision, Hank realises – he can probably see all the fine details of Hank’s body, right down to where he’s slick and spread open for him.

Connor slides one hand up Hank’s inner thigh, rubbing over his belly and tweaking a nipple idly. “Mm, you’re pretty.”

_That’s my line,_ Hank wants to say, but his throat feels tight. Connor teases him again, slippery cockhead rubbing over his hole and making Hank let out a soft, wanting sound. “Please.”

Hank can swear he sees a twinkle in Connor’s demonic racoon eyes. “Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please fuck me – I need it.”

Connor climbs on top of him, pushing Hank into the couch. The slide of his dick as he pushes back inside feels endless – Hank feels like he can hardly get any air into his lungs. He gasps, chest heaving, and reaches down to finally get a hand around himself.

“That’s it, touch yourself,” Connor says as he fucks in a smooth, effortless rhythm, holding Hank’s thighs where he wants them. Connor is still fully dressed, his belt buckle jangling and slapping the back of Hank’s thigh. He doesn’t sweat and so he still looks so put together it’s almost creepy – if not for the slightly deranged glint in his eye, Hank might think he was unaffected by all this.

Hank jerks himself fast and roughly, all the self-consciousness knocked out of him by how good it feels. So what if an android has him spread out on his own couch, naked and fucked stupid? He’s so close, he moans and squeezes the base of his dick, trying to drag it out for just a few more seconds.

“Do it,” Connor urges. “Come on my cock like a good boy.”

“You can’t just say—” he trails off into a groan and his eyes squeeze shut. Connor pushes in deep at just the right angle and Hank comes all over his own belly and chest. He feels a cool wetness inside him and Connor’s body trembling right where he’s pressed against Hank’s ass. As Connor pulls out slowly, Hank feels what a messy wreck he is – come leaking out of him, thighs trembling.      

Things get a little fuzzy after that – Connor helps him up and catches him around the waist when Hank’s pins-and-needles legs fail to hold him steady. They make it to the bathroom to shower and the next thing Hank knows he’s lying back in bed wrapped in his towelling robe. He must have dozed off for a while after that and he wakes to the soft glow of Connor’s LED and the screen of a tablet on its lowest brightness setting. Connor has the skin pulled back from his hand as he interfaces with the device. Hank groans and rubs his eyes, shifting to try and raise himself up on one elbow. “What you doing there, stud?”

“Just reading some of the comments on my photo spread.” Connor reaches out with his still-fleshed hand and rubs Hank’s head, brushing the tangled hair back with his fingertips.

“Oh yeah? Hope you’re not feeding the trolls.”

“The comments are generally positive.”

“Of course they are – have you _seen_ you?” Hank nuzzles against Connor’s bare hip, kissing his thigh. Connor keeps petting him, fingertips sliding down the back of his neck – it’s so nice. Somehow Hank had forgotten why people do this – not just the sex – the casual touches; quiet voices in a dark room.

“Was it good, Hank?”

“Your photo spread?”

“No, the sex. Did you enjoy it?”

“You know I did. Honey, you’re incredible.”

“It wasn’t like you imagined.”

“Yeah well, turns out I don’t have a very good imagination. The reality was better than my horniest dreams.”

Connor makes a humming sound of amusement. “‘I never thought it would happen to me…’”

Hank grumbles and laughs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, I really fuckin’ didn’t!”

Connor puts the tablet aside and burrows down under the covers with him, wrapping his arms around Hank and giving him a tight squeeze. “It did though, Lieutenant. It really did.”

*~*~*   

>   _Dear Ports forum,_
> 
> _I’d love to tell you all about my latest adventure with my partner, the world’s sexiest android detective, but since this is my last ever letter I have to come clean about a couple of things (well, maybe more than a couple):_
> 
>   * _Connor has two ns._
> 

>   * _RK800s are a specialist prototype with many unique features, they are not, however, self-lubricating._
> 

>   * _Connor’s vocal range does not include any sounds that could be described as ‘breathy’ or ‘like a mewl.’_
> 

>   * _His dick is 18 cms (7 inches) long when erect and pretty damn thick. It is ‘inaccurate’ (his words) to describe it as ‘small’ or ‘cute.’_
> 

>   * _Connor does not own booty shorts (yet)._
> 

>   * _He would never jeopardise a case for the sake of a sexual encounter. ‘Unlike humans, androids are able to prioritise.’_
> 

>   * _Connor is ‘not a twink, just built that way’ and ‘infinitely better at dicking down than all you wannabe daddy-doms in the comments’ (can confirm!)._
> 

> 
>   _I guess most of the rest was true, more or less. It was true in spirit - which is to say I obsessed over this obscenely hot android and eventually he threw me a bone, literally and figuratively. Some of the details involved a little of what they call ‘poetic licence,’ but that was only to make it more entertaining for you, the Ports fan. Now that you know what he looks like [see issue #245 – Ed.] I guess you don’t need my help coming up with fantasies, so I thought I’d sign off with some things about Connor that you can’t tell just from pictures:_  
> 
>   * _Connor is a great detective. Not just because of all his fancy processing power, but because he’s curious and he never gives up._
> 

>   * _He’s funny as hell – I don’t think CyberLife meant to build an android that’s a sassy little shit, so I guess they fucked up._
> 

>   * _He has a lot of opinions. A lot of the pornos portray androids as sweet and naive (I’m not knocking it, I’ve jerked off to my fair share of babes from the photospreads who look like they were born sexy yesterday), but the reality is that Connor is the opposite of compliant. God fucking help you if he gets an idea into his head – all you can do is just go along for the ride._
> 

>   * _He’s one of the best things that ever happened to me (yeah I know, you didn’t come here for sappy shit, but there it is. He turned my sad-sack life around and I’m crazy about him)._
> 

> 
> _So here’s hoping you all find that special someone that makes you want to write a poem or a bunch of smutty letters. You could always try talking to them, too – you never know until you try, right?_
> 
> _\- Not-so-bad Lieutenant_


End file.
